


Darkness Lives In Me

by lokilickedme



Series: Tempest [1]
Category: Loki (Marvel) - Fandom, Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Brainwashing, Cruelty, Despair, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Coercion, Mental Disintegration, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:48:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokilickedme/pseuds/lokilickedme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lost chapter of Loki's fall, after the Void, before he unleashed hell on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darkness Lives In Me

 

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and darkness lives in me.

I have been in this cell, my own personal hell, for I know not how long.  I know not where I am, nor how I got here, but I know that I was put here by those who once claimed to love me.  Those who once were entrusted with my care, and blessed with my trust.  I have never truly known how to love in return, but the affection I felt for these others was close enough.  Close enough to make me careless, when the time came for them to betray me.

The darkness I live in is not the same darkness that resides in my soul.  The cell is cold, lightless, devoid of sensory stimulation.  There is nothing here to tell me I am alive.  Nothing to grasp onto, to hold, to touch.  There is only me.  Me and the darkness, and the burning hatred in the pit of my gut.  That is what I cling to, what I press against in my mad, hungry yearning for contact.  The hatred feeds the darkness, and it tells me I still exist.

But who I am is becoming more of a mystery to me as time passes.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and lust resides in me.  Deprived of anything to guide me, my conscience and conscientiousness both bleed away to nothingness.  I am without remorse, without regret, and without compassion.  There is no one to show such sentiments to, where I am...in my wildest moments of despair I have molded beings to keep my mind from splintering, concocting playthings to occupy my time.  I build them with care, forming them meticulously, creating objects of beauty to admire and desire.  And then I break them, taking delicious pleasure in watching them shatter and disappear into the darkness.  One such toy I recreate over and over, until I begin to have feelings for it, something reminiscent of love, although I do not know if I am imagining this emotion correctly.  It is what I assume love would feel like, were I capable of such ridiculous and pointless endeavors.  

I call her Elyra, and she comes to me when I call.  She is always fully formed now, no longer bits and pieces that I construct on demand to suit my desire.  I simply say her name and she is there, complete and whole, ready to do my bidding and then die a painful, violent death afterwards.  It is always the same, but she never complains.

I call her and she appears from the fringes of the darkness, all luscious limbs and supple curves, large green eyes that gaze upon me with fear mingled with desire.  Her hair is the hue of blue smoke and smells of violets, her skin the color of fresh milk.  She is delicate and fragile, a thing of beauty.  I never see her face entirely, as she resides in shadows and they are a permanent part of her, as they are of me now.  But I allow her to feel safe, to find pleasure in my touch, to hear my words of adoration as I undress her, my eyes seeing only her in the unending darkness where we live.

She serves me well, and when I am done plying her with tenderness and care, I proceed to destroy her, bit by bloody bit, until she is nothing.  As I am nothing.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and madness holds sway over me.  The darkness of the void, the unending blackness of my cell, and the growing nothingness inside me have conspired with one another to render me senseless.  In time there will be nothing left of me, and in my listless ennui I begin to long for it.  But something in me still burns, holding desperately to what is left, refusing to allow the seeping black hole inside to grow large enough to engulf me entirely.  Some small sliver of who I am, what I am, remains strong.  But it is dying with the rest of me, being eaten away by the madness that nips at the corners of my mind.  I cannot fight it.

I see things, things that I know cannot exist, yet they are here with me in the darkness.  Things unimaginable, designed just for me, though not by me.  This realization keeps me from giving in to the insanity that threatens me daily, knowing that someone, somewhere, is orchestrating this illusion with intent.  Intent of what, I know not...but it is enough to keep my tenuous grasp on my sanity.  Madness is always there, taunting me, luring me with its devious warmth.  But I shall resist it for as long as I can.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and passion burns me.  It is like a fire in my gullet, both warming and destroying.  I call to Elyra and she comes, her face concealed by shadows, her eyes cast downward in the gesture of respect and deference I created her with.  She writhes beneath me as I vent my lust upon her delicate body, her cries arousing me, her fragility provoking me to break her.  I mark her with my teeth, my hands, my lips...she cries out in pain as I bruise her, inside and out, leaving no part of her untouched by my wrath.  I find her agony erotic.  And when I have spilled my seed into her, my passion spent, I leave her bloodied and broken in the darkness, letting her whimpers of despair feed my black soul.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and power strengthens me.  I feel it coursing through my veins, letting me know it is still there, damped by restraints but not torn from me.  It keeps me alive, when the tortures finally begin. I had known this day would come, when the horrors lurking on the outskirts of the darkness would venture closer to sink their hooks into me.  They beat me, breaking my bones and leaving me to heal myself enough to fight death, before they return to tear more of my life from me.  My blood spills into the darkness, running down my body, warming me in the cold nothingness.  My will begins to break, my spirit to unravel.  My mind relinquishes control.  I let them fill me with images, thoughts, commands.  I do not fight them, for there will be freedom in submission.  But they cannot control my soul, my black, damaged soul.  I have locked it away in an untouchable place that they do not know exists.  The rest of me is theirs to do with as they wish.

The torments leave me unable to move, unwilling to try.  Unspeakable things that even my own inner darkness would never inflict on another.  They think to break me completely, to bend me to their will explicitly, but they do not know who they are dealing with.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and revenge drives me.  I will be freed, loosed upon a world that deserves nothing of what I will do to it.  But I will do it regardless of the injustice.  I will close my eyes and unfurl chaos, shutting off that part of me that cries out in protest.  I will gleefully wreak havoc, destroying innocents, in my quest for vengeance.  And in the end, vengeance will be mine.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and freedom entices me.  The torments have stopped; my mind now filled with new purpose, new intent, I await my liberation from the unending darkness.  I grow bored, calling my Elyra to me one last time, intent on destroying her permanently in celebration of my impending release.  I no longer need her.  There will be a world full of submissives, waiting to be subjugated by my rule, handed to me as reward for my obedience.  Flesh and blood, living, breathing slaves.  

She comes from the shadows, her face obscured as always, showing her subservience.  I feel disgust for her now, her willingness to be tormented by me, her unquestioning obedience and fealty.  She has no hope of receiving anything from me in return except death.  I wonder why I created such a pathetic creature.

I grab her face brutally and force her to bring her eyes to mine.  The shadows fall away and I see her clearly for the first time.  I recoil in horror when I see my own face looking back at me.

 

I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.

 

 


End file.
